


Better Than Cake

by Sophia_Bee



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bake Off, Cake, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Flirting, Funny, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Humor, M/M, Smitten Erik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 12:14:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4391492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophia_Bee/pseuds/Sophia_Bee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is the premier wedding cake creator in the area until someone starts stealing his business. He goes about sizing up his competition and ends up in a bake-off with one grumpy baker named Erik Lehnsherr.</p><p>Art! Beautiful art inspired by this story. Thanks to <b>Nostalgic_Kitty</b> <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4788626">Better than Cake (The Sexy Bastard Remix)</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than Cake

**Author's Note:**

> always thanks to my lovely, dearest Leafeylocket. For the beta and telling me this is funny.

“White cake? Really Charles? Could you be more, um, vanilla?”

Charles smooths the spatula over the side of the bottom tier of the large cake on the gleaming stainless steel counter of the professional kitchen he’d had installed in the mansion three years ago when he’d started his business. It’s beautiful, a fanciful tower of perfection, one that he knows would make many a bride or groom swoon. It wasn’t either a bride or a groom he was trying to sway this time. It was a panel of judges. Somehow Charles had gotten himself into a bake-off.

“White cake is underrated.” Charles murmurs, picking up one of the fondant flowers he spent most of the night making. It’s flat with carefully piped edges, [reminiscent of the intricate patterns found on antique lace](http://www.cakedesignideas.net/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/Martha-Stewart-Lace-Wedding-Cakes-Pictures.jpg). He dabs the back with the icing and presses it to the side of the cake then steps back and admires his work. Only just short of a hundred more pieces to attach, but when he’s done it will be a masterpiece.

“White cake is boring.” Raven sighs dramatically, tipping her head backwards as she draws out that last word for emphasis. She twirls around on the stool that’s basically become hers. She often comes in after a long day of work and a commute from the city and perches on it as Charles works his magic: building cakes that wow customers, making dreams come true. His cakes taste as good as they look, and his skills are unsurpassed. Charles Xavier is best cake baker in the area a magazine article had touted, and although Charles had humbly reassured Raven they just hadn’t tasted all the wedding cakes in the city, and next year it would be someone entirely different, he was secretly thrilled..

“Not _my_ white cake,” Charles says, sounding distracted as he continues to affix the fondant flowers to the side of the cake. This cake will not be at a wedding. It will not be cut with two people holding the decorative knife at the same time. It won’t be shoved unceremoniously into the bride’s face as the groom grins stupidly and the cameras click. Still it might be the most important cake he’s ever made. This is a cake that could win awards. “My white cake,” Charles continues, picking up another decoration and sounding intentionally distracted, as if this conversation means nothing, “melts in your mouth like no other.”

Truth be told he really should be making chocolate. It was chocolate that brought his empire down. It all started the day he lost the Shaw-Frost account.

He can still picture that bastard Shaw leaning against his counter, his hand braced against the shiny stainless steel, and Charles remembers feeling vaguely annoyed that he would need to wipe that down with bleach when the couple left. What happened next would wash away any mild irritation Charles may have been holding onto about Shaw's greasy mitts.

“It’s just that he was right.” Emma Frost had said with a plaintive, placating whine, but Charles was deaf to her words. He could barely see how her face was wrinkled into a perfect pose of sympathy, how her mouth pouted in a perfectly sorry way.

“Your cake.” Charles had stammered. “I have it almost done. And you’re saying that his...his chocolate is…”

“Better.” Shaw had said succinctly, all business like and to-the-point. “It’s better. He came to us and told us that you were good. Maybe the best. But when it came to chocolate, he was better. We tasted it and….”

Emma had let out a loud, sorry sigh at this point and she had walked over to Charles, her heels clicking on his kitchen floor. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, the same sort of gesture you give to someone at a funeral, consoling them that a loved one had died. Charles had frozen, fighting not to shirk away from her touch, glancing over at her blood red nails against the white of his chef’s smock. He remembers wishing the floor would just open up and swallow him right then and there.

“It’s true, sugar.” Emma had said, her voice smooth as silk. Charles felt the blood drain from his face. His clients had been poached; lured by superior chocolate cake. He could not believe it.

The Shaw-Frost party had paid in full and they didn’t ask for their money back. It was too close to the wedding date for a refund anyway. Still, the rejection had stung. Charles had stared after the couple for a good long minute after they left, wondering how this other baker had known that his chocolate cake was substandard. Had he been stalking weddings? Had he been tasting Charles’ creations unbeknownst to him? Did this mystery baker have a spy who was feeding him information? My god, were there cameras in his kitchen?

Charles did manage to resist the urge to tear apart his kitchen searching for hidden mics and cameras. He was pretty sure there was an explanation simpler than high level espionage. At least that’s what he told himself. Maybe it was that wedding fair he’d done a few months ago. He’d had his cake samples there. He didn’t know for sure but he decided not to worry about it. It was just one client after all.

Then he lost another wedding. And a third. By the time he lost the Munoz-Summers wedding, he hadn’t even bothered to ask why. He’d just looked at them and said, ‘chocolate cake’ and they had nodded and apologized for the twentieth time.

“It’s just that it’s heavenly.” Armando had explained as Alex nodded from behind him. Charles had managed to wait until they left before he punched his Subzero fridge, leaving a dent that Raven seemed impressed with the next time she visited.

Charles had decided he needed to find out the name of this baker, this creator of chocolate cakes so good they lured clients away, and all around business-stealing bastard. That had been the beginning of the farce he was about to embark on.

“I think you’re just too scared to compete against Eri…”

“Shush.” Charles says quickly and Raven’s mouth clamps shut. He turns to her and waves af finger in her direction. “Do not say his name. Never say his name. Not in my presence, or you’ll be written out of the will.”

“You can’t write me out of the will, Charles.” Raven says dryly, her voice tinged with amusement. She glares at him but her eyes look like they do when she’s about burst out in laughter. Her blonde hair is cascading down her back, having been released from the business-like updo she usually sports for work. “Maybe you don't want to compete against that OTHER baker’s chocolate cake. Maybe white cake isn’t as underrated as you say. Maybe you’re just scared.”

Truth be told, Charles doesn’t feel entirely confident about his chocolate cake. Not after losing so many clients to that OTHER baker. Plus he’s never excelled at crumb coats and this is not the day to have a stray crumb of chocolate cake mar his perfect white on white presentation, resulting in an automatic markdown. Today is the day for utter perfection.

After the Munoz-Summers debacle, Charles had decided he needed to find out exactly who this baker was. He’d managed to get the name of the bakery from Armando, using guilt and a good bottle of scotch.

“Top Cake Shoppe.” Charles had told Raven after his short foray into the world of bribery. “I mean, who uses the word ‘shoppe’. Tacky is what I say. I’m sure he’s featured regularly on Cake Wrecks.”

Charles sniffed. HE had never been featured on Cake Wrecks. His work was impeccable. He didn’t need to remind Raven of this because he’d told her countless times before. Charles had put his hands on his hips and huffed a bit. Raven rolled her eyes a habit she had of doing around him.

“Charles,” she’d said, sounding a bit exasperated, “Your business is called Cakes for the Memories. I don’t think you have much room for criticism there.”

It wasn't entirely his fault. By the time Raven had told Charles that the name of his business wasn’t nearly as clever as he presumed, the business cards had been printed and the business license had been obtained. Cakes for the Memories it was. For better or for worse. Worse according to Raven.

“Cakes is like thanks,” Charles muttered for what must have been the thousandth time, “Thanks for the memories. CAKES for the memories.”

“Yes Charles," Raven had sighed. “I get it. It really doesn’t make it better.”

Charles decided he would have to do a little reconnaissance. He would have to actually go and check out the proprietor of Top Cake Shoppe, a truly lazy name and so arrogant, to just say you are the top without even earning the designation. Charles got one of the cars out of the expansive garage and made his way into the city, ignoring Raven’s jokes about the roads being 37% more dangerous that day since he would be on them. Using his iPhone he managed to locate Top Bakery Shoppe, a little hole in the wall in a rundown neighborhood, the outside a callback to the 1980s, with a sign that looked just about as old. Charles frowned as he stared at the bakery. This was where his competitor was located? This unassuming storefront that looks like it serves the neighborhood grandmas stole clients away from Charles' sleek, shiny commercial kitchen?

When he pushed his way into the shop he found it to be cramped, with a counter and a glass case along one side and a few worn chairs and table on the other. The atmosphere was unapologetically shabby, clearly refusing to cater to any of the urban hipsters who might find their way there. It was warm inside, condensation clouding the windows, and smelled sweet, the scents of sugar and butter filling the air. For a moment Charles stood transfixed at how much the smell reminded him of the cakes the cook at the mansin used to whip up every year, and who sat and ate them with him when his mother and stepfather once again forgot his birthday. Charles shook his head and pulled himself from his revelry. He wasn’t here for a trip down memory lane. He was here to do battle.

The bakery was deserted. The only person present was a pimply faced teenager who was sitting behind the counter looking vaguely bored. He had a mop top of red curly hair and a pale complexion, probably from playing too many video games and never spending time outside. He glanced up at Charles, smacked his gum a couple times, picked at a fingernail, then said, in a tone that indicated he was indeed as he appeared - bored, he said in a deadpan voice, “We’re almost closed.”

Charles bristled with annoyance that this debacle of a business was the home of his competitor. He fought his instinct to drag the teen up to the top of something high then push him off. He also quickly surmised that this was most likely not the owner. So he asked if the owner was in.

“The baker?” The teen asked, “oh, he’s been gone for hours. Comes in early to decorate the wedding cakes.”

“Oh.” Charles had said, keeping his voice even, trying to sound both surprised and interested, “you do wedding cakes?”

“Yeah. Didn’t used to. The old owner was strictly birthday cakes and batmitzvahs. Then the new guy bought the place and we started doing weddings too.”

The teen didn’t sound any more interested in this development than he did over anything else. Charles found himself wondering if he was interested in anything beyond World of Warcraft, something Raven had told him existed, and most likely the pimply-faced red head partook in when he wasn't perfecting his stance of boredom behind the counter of Top Cake Shoppe.

“Does he have a card?” Charles asked, trying to sound merely curious, like someone who might be in the market for a wedding cake. Not secret agenda here. None at all.

“You getting married soon?” the teen asked, popping his gum.

“Uh, yes.” Charles lied. A white lie. A little lie.

“He really makes amazing cakes. Good choice, man."

Charles could not stop himself at this point. He opened his mouth and it just came out before he could change course.

“Uh, yeah. I’m also looking at Cakes for the Memories. Me and my, uh, fiancé. She…” Oh god, Charles thought, this lie was getting deeper. Correct. Quickly! "I mean HE read about the baker. Some sort of cake genius.”

“Yeah,” the teen said, flashing a smile towards Charles and handing him a glossy business card. “A genius we keep stealing business from. And what about that name. Cakes for the Memories? Really?”

“It’s clever.” Charles had said a little too quickly as he took the card from the teenager. “You know, Cakes, like thanks.”

“Yeah," the teen snorted derisively, “Not too hard to figure out.”

Charles managed not to blurt out that the business cards were done already and he was kind of stuck with the name. Instead he bought one of the remaining cookies, an entirely adequate snickerdoodle, then he left the shop, clutching the card. Only when he was on the sidewalk did he dare examine it. It read like this:

And that was how Charles learned that his competition was a man with a German surname called Erik. That was how he started down the road to this ridiculous bake-off.

Hank pulls up just as Charles is placing the very last fondant flower on his cake. He steps back and takes a long look at his creation. It’s too bad this one won’t be part of a wedding. He’s not sure he’s ever created a more beautiful cake and is a bit sad that it will be sacrificed in an exercise of pride. He’s sure Erik Lehnsherr will show up with his chocolate cake that is wowing all the engaged couples, but Charles thinks he might be able to get an edge just from artistry alone. Charles had heard the crunch of the delivery van tires outside but he’s still surprised when Hank pipes up from behind him.

“Impressive.”

Hank’s voice is deep and rumbly and it doesn’t match his tall, lithe geek-like figure, complete with glasses that are tilted awkwardly on his nose and hair that's a bit too long. Just behind Hank is Raven, peering over Hank’s shoulder and now changed into what she considers casual-wear, a pair of khaki pants with a fashionable shirt and a long slouching cardigan sweater. She places a hand on Hank’s shoulder, a gesture of familiarity towards the friend who has been in their lives for the past five years, and Charles watches as Hank flinches. He wonders if these two will ever figure out that they are secretly crazy for each other and just get married. And if they do, he entirely expects to make their wedding cake. Unless they want chocolate. If they want chocolate, maybe they should to go for the best chocolate cake in town, which is apparently NOT Charles'. The specter of the faceless Erik Lehnsherr once again floats to the front of Charles’ thoughts and his brow furrows. Someone with so few scruples would not have a problem poaching Charles’ own sister out from under him. It’s funny that after a year of competition, Charles has never actually met Erik, but he imagines what he would be like; a paunchy middle-aged man who is slightly balding, hoping to finally make something of his life, and willing to do anything to make that happen. A man without scruples.

The drive into the city feels like it takes forever. Charles reminds Hank to slow down no less than twenty times, his mind filled with images of his cake tipped over, smashed along the side of the delivery van. He will not win this contest if they arrive with a damaged cake, and he wants to win this contest more than anything. Charles Xavier wants to regain his station as the best cake maker in the area, to show this Lehnsherr character who is boss. The cake boss.

They arrive at the hotel where the smaller ballroom has been rented. It seats no more than 60 people, and Charles wonders who might come to witness this showdown. He knows Raven has invited her friends. It was the way she sniggered when he asked her to keep it low profile, telling her he didn’t really want a lot of attention. It was also her Facebook status update inviting everyone to the downtown Sheraton to see her brother make a fool of himself. The delivery van screeches to a halt outside the front doors of the hotel and Charles steps out of the passenger side, straightening his chef’s coat while simultaneously waving away the porter who surges in their direction. No one but he and Hank will move this cake. He walks around to the back of the van when he hears a deep voice from behind him.

“Would you like some help?”

Charles frowns in annoyance. He had already indicated he didn’t need help, but in this era of pesky customer service, of course the porter is going to ignore him. He starts to turn, a polite declination on the tip of his tongue, but it all fades away when he sees who is offering their assistance. Standing before Charles is not the porter but a stranger. A very handsome stranger.

He is tall. Much taller than Charles, and Charles has to tilt his head upwards to look into his face. Look up into his handsome face and his beautiful ice blue eyes. Dressed in an impeccable tailored charcoal gray suit that fits every angle in the most perfect manner, the man smiles as Charles searches for words, all rational thought slipping away. He can’t even manage to glance up and down, or lick his lips, or work up some sort of lascivious gaze. All of his flirting skills fly out the window and all he can do is gape. Like a fish out of water.

Holy shit.

“Uhhh.” Charles finally manages, feeling heat climb up his cheeks. Just then Hank comes around the corner, apparently entirely unaware of the sexual tension that is suddenly crackling in the air.

“The blue ballroom, right Charles?” Hank says, going to pull the back door of the van open.

“Charles, is it?” the man says, raising an eyebrow and Charles thinks he can detect a slight smirk, an undertone of amusement.

“I’m sorry.” Charles finally manages to stammer, “I don’t need any help.” He doesn’t add any of the myriad of other things he might like, such as the man’s number, or for him to slam Charles up against a wall and to slowly dip his head until those thin, bitten lips find Charles' and kiss him breathless. No, he doesn’t offer up any of those alternatives to this man’s offer of assistance. After all, there is a cake contest to win, and it is not the best time for Charles to be trying to procure a date. No matter how tall, dark and handsome the potential date might be. Even if the potential date is looking at him like he might want to eat him up slice by slice. Charles swallows and silently curses the timing of the universe. If only he was leaving, trophy in hand. Yes, there will be a trophy. Raven had insisted on having one made. If he was leaving with that trophy, he might see if this stranger would be interested in a drink with the best wedding cake baker in the area. Instead he turns away and goes to help Hank, who is now rolling the cake forward. The last thing Charles needs is the cake on the pavement as he stares at this handsome man in wonder, thinking only with his dick and nothing else.

“Another time, then.” The man says from behind Charles. His voice smooth and easy, and Charles wonders what it might sound like waking up next to him then mentally kicks himself. Focus, Xavier, he tells himself.

“Probably not.” Charles says, looking over his shoulder briefly, offering up his best glare only to be met with a smile. He turns back to the task at hand, grabbing onto one end of the cart and starting to pull out the cake, Hank pushing from the other end.

“You never know," the man says, and this time when Charles glances over his shoulder, planning to throw this interloper his best look of annoyance, the stranger is gone. Good riddance. The last thing Charles needs today is distraction.

Raven is already in the ballroom when Charles and Hank wheel in his cake. She whistles in appreciation when she sees the finished product. She’s standing with her best friend, Angel, and as Charles rolls the cake up to the table with his name card on it, Raven leans forward and pretends she’s about to run a finger through the buttercream frosting.

“Ha, ha Raven.” Charles says dryly. He’s used to his sister’s hijinks and sense of humor. He knows the last thing she would do is ruin his masterpiece. There was a time when she would have done everything in her power to annoy him, but now that they’re older, despite her ribbing, they are close as siblings can be.

“Have you seen him?” Raven asks, glancing around. The room is set up with three tables on the stage. One has a sign that reads Cakes for the Memories. Another has a sign that reads Top Cake Shoppe. They flank what appears to the the judges' table. Charles looks at the other table and of course it’s empty. He smiles to himself. Just like Lehnsherr to arrive late, although Charles honestly has nothing to base this observation on. It just seems like something a business-stealing bastard would do. Clearly Charles is going to win this contest.

“You look good, brother.” Raven says, plopping down into one of the folding chairs at his table. “Very baker-like.”

Charles glances down at his chef’s coat. He had washed it that morning, wanting it to be crisp and clean for this event. He’s wearing his standard baggy black and white checked pants he wears in the kitchen. His hair is freshly cut and he knows he’s looking professional.

“I’m sure Lehnsherr will show up in something entirely inappropriate.” Charles mutters. He turns and starts to search through the backpack he had slung over his shoulder when Hank picked him up. He'd put his tools in there just in case he had to make any last minute repairs and he wanted to make sure he had them nearby. Just then he hears the sound of the ballroom door opening and he knows that the moment has finally come. His competition is here. Late, but here.

“Um, Charles?” Raven asks, nudging him with her Jimmy Choos. Charles ignores her until she nudges him a second time.

“What Raven?” Charles says, sounding more annoyed than he feels.

“Have you ever actually met this Lehnsherr fellow?”

“Why would I have met him, Raven?” Charles grumbles, “it’s not like I’ve stalked his shop or anything.”

Technically he stalked his employee so it’s not entirely a lie.

“So you’ve never seen him?”

“No, Raven." Charles sighs, feeling exasperated at this line of questioning. "Why do you ask?”

“Um, because, Charles...he’s, well...because he’s gorgeous.”

Charles freezes. Gorgeous. Really? Raven is his sister, his staunch ally, and here she is shifting her allegiances because she thinks the OTHER baker is good looking. It’s not like Charles really trusts Raven’s taste in men anyway. She did date that awful Russian whose skin was way too flushed from his daily regimen of vodka. When she says gorgeous…

Charles stands up from where he’s crouching. Slowly he turns in the direction Raven is looking. His mind is busy cataloging not only the men Raven has dated but the ones she’s tried to set him up with, and he’s still not sure she is truly the best judge of who is gorgeous or not. Anyway, how could Erik Lehnsherr be gorgeous. He’s a smarmy, manipulative, arrogant…

Charles gaze goes to the doorway where someone is bringing a cake in. His eyes grow wide and his mouth falls open.

...GORGEOUS son of a bitch.

Oh no. It’s him. The man at the back of the van. The one offering his help. The distractingly handsome man from outside.

Charles buries his face in his hands. This can’t be happening. It just can’t be happening. And anyway, who wears a suit to a bake-off? A tailored suit, fitting every curve and angle perfectly that leaves little to the imagination. Who does that?

Erik fucking Lehnsherr, that’s who.

Erik Lehnsherr is not some paunchy balding baker trying to live out his dream before he ends up in a retirement home against his will. Far from it. Charles lifts his face from his hands just in time for Erik Lehnsherr to pass by his table and glance his way, offering Charles a knowing smile. Even worse, he then opens his gorgeous mouth and decides to speak, his voice thick like honey, low and intimate.

“Why hello Charles. Nice to see you again.” Erik rumbles in an all too familiar tone as he strides past Charles and Raven.

“You know him? YOU KNOW HIM????” Raven hisses, her hand grabbing Charles’ sleeve. “Charles Francis Xavier, have you been holding out on me?”

“I...ah...NO.” Charles manages to gasp. He feels hot. Is the room hot? Charles tugs on his collar.

“Charles. You’re red. You’re blushing. Oh my god, you like him! You like the man who has been stealing your business. I mean I can see why. Is this all a trick, to get to meet him? Is it?”

Charles looks at Raven like she’s gone mad. What is she talking about? This contest was her idea in the first place, cooked up on a tipsy Friday night after she declared she could take no more whining from Charles and there had to be a way to decide who was the best once and for all.

“Oh god, NO, Raven. I mean, that’s not even possible. He’s ethically questionable, barely talented, a one cake wonder, and…” Charles pauses as he watches the cake Erik has brought roll by. His eyes grow wide. It doesn’t look like chocolate cake at all. Slowly something begins to dawn on Charles, a creeping realization. “Oh my. Is that...is that a WHITE CAKE?”

The pimply-faced teen has returned and at Charles exclamation he looks towards where Charles and Raven are standing and smiles, not noticing that the cart he was pushing has started to sway a bit. He offers Charles a big smile just as Erik Lehnsherr leaps towards the cake and steadies the cart with one big, capable hand that Charles can’t seem to tear his gaze away from.

“Oh yeah," the teen exclaims. “it’s a white cake. Hey. Don’t I know you?"

Charles feels himself turn even redder. “Uh, no,” he somehow manages to stammer, unable to take his eyes off the cake that is now directly in front of him. White cake. It's almost as if Erik Lehnsherr, baker extraordinaire, with his fancy suit, long legs and narrow hips, somehow knows exactly which buttons to push.

Charles has lost all ability to speak at this point. All he can manage is to sputter. Of course this is the very moment Erik Lehnsherr decides to stride over to stand in front of Charles' table, hands on his hips, gazing at Charles' cake through narrowed eyes. His eyes move from the towering confection to Charles himself, lingering for just long enough to greatly increase Charles' consternation.

"Impressive," the tall, too-handsome-for-his-own-good man murmurs. Charles isn't entirely sure what he's referring to: Charles' cake or Charles himself. Charles wishes he could respond with a clever quip, a witty rejoinder. Luckily he's saved by Raven, who practically shoves Charles aside and giggles...GIGGLES...as she extends her hand.

"Raven." She says, her voice sounding unusually high pitched, "Raven Darkholme."

Charles blinks and wishes he could kick her under the table. Is she flirting? With the enemy? If she is, Erik appears not to notice, because his eyes don't leave Charles and Raven's hand lingers mid-air.

"Mmm hmmmm." Erik says absently and Raven drops her hand, frowning a little. It appears that Erik Lehnsherr has eyes for only one person here, and that one person is his sworn mortal enemy.

“A masterpiece.” Charles somehow manages to squeak out, still staring at Erik, who is staring back.

“I would say,” Erik purrs, his lips still curled in a slight smirk. “I can see why you’ve earned such a reputation, despite your hokey name.”

Charles blinks then startles, feeling taken aback. It’s a perfectly good name. Why does the entire world seem to want to throw it in his face? He would once again explain that Cakes is like Thanks, but he doesn’t because Erik, baker extraordinaire blurts out the name of Charles’ business, tinged with laughter.

“Cakes for the Memories. Clever.” Erik Lehnsherr says, and for a moment Charles thinks maybe he’s being genuine, until a smirk creeps across his face and he adds, as if it's an afterthought, “Sort of.”

Charles huffs. It’s not even a figurative huff, it’s a puff of air that he lets out entirely by accident, fueled by his frustration. He can’t believe the gall of this man who is standing before him, insulting his business name while flirting at the same time.

“Well.” Charles says, not sure what else he can say in this moment, “May the best man win.”

“Ah yes, I am looking forward to taking that trophy home.”

“Hmmmm.” Charles intones, pretending to busy himself straightening one of the fondant flowers.

“The one that’s shaped like a wedding cake.”

“Uh huh.” Charles bends down to pick up his tools, further ignoring his competitor and his pregame intimidation antics that would be more appropriate at a wrestling match instead of a wedding cake bake-off.

“And maybe the loser should have to lick whipped cream off my perfect abs.”

Charles’ head jerks up and he stares up at Erik who is still standing looking at him. What the hell? “What...what did you say?” Charles manages to stammer.

“I was just saying that the trophy is shaped like a wedding cake.” Erik answers, looking slightly confused. “Are you okay Charles?”

Charles shakes his head. Maybe he was hearing things. Didn’t Erik just say something about whipped cream and abs? Suddenly Charles is picturing Erik Lehnsherr, baker extraordinaire, entirely naked and wonders how his skin might taste slicked up with sweetened, fluffy cream. Oh dear god, maybe he should just forfeit now. Give up and go home and jerk off instead of being humiliated like this.

“Uh, yeah.” Charles says, gripping his offset spatula tightly. “May the best man win, Lehnsherr.”

Erik nods and smiles once again, then turns and walks towards his table, leaving Charles staring after him.

“Um, Raven.”

“Yes, brother?”

“Did he say something about whipped cream?”

Raven’s nose wrinkles into a frown and she looks at Charles like he’s gone mad.

“Um, no. Are you okay Charles?” She puts a hand to his forehead. “Fever? Chills? Or just a bad case of twitterpation? Good god, that man looked at you like he’d like to taste YOU, not the cake.”

Charles shushes Raven and ducks down a little, hoping that Erik didn’t hear his sister. She pokes a finger at his ribs and offers him a wide, knowing grin. They both know what she’s not saying. He’s in trouble. Big trouble.

The bake off is simple. Each baker has brought two judges of their choosing. Each baker will get a vote. If there is a tie, Raven will cast the deciding vote. The ballroom starts to fill, people wandering in and taking seats. Charles continues to fuss with his cake, trying not to glance over at his competition, who seems to be entirely calm and collected, practically lounging in a folding chair behind his table, looking as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. Charles fails because all he seems to be able to do is look over at Erik Lehnsherr: look at his thighs, his long legs, those fingers drumming absently on the table. He sees Erik’s lashes, thick and dark against his cheek. He just happens to glance over once when Erik is licking his lips, and Charles can’t help but watch that tongue as it slips in and out from between those lips. It’s like one long dance of seduction that Charles couldn’t stop if he wanted to.

Finally the moment comes when it’s time to start the contest. Each man steps to the podium in the center of the stage and explains his creation. There are terms like crumb coat, fondant, beading and basket weave bandied about. Erik ups the ante with some petal dust. Charles explains how his pattern is not just fondant but the topper is pulled sugar. They list ingredients: butter, sugar, local organic milk, vanilla beans imported from Madagascar. They step back to their cakes, staring out into the small crowd of people, then they are each handed a knife. Charles holds the knife in his hand, feeling its weight, and slowly, carefully cuts into his cake, savoring the way it slides smoothly through the frosting, the layers. He pulls the piece out, the lace pattern intact, then carefully slides it onto a plate. Then, with great decor, he walks across the stage and places the slice on Erik’s table. Charles shakes Erik’s hand, ignoring that the other man holds onto his just a tad too long, that he rubs his thumb lightly over Charles' knuckle, then makes his way back to his table. Erik then does the same thing, slicing his cake, sliding the slice onto a fine bone china plate and then walks it over to Charles' table.

This is where things start to go a bit sideways. Instead of placing the plate on the table, shaking hands and turning away, Erik Lehnsherr turns to the audience and holds up the hand that isn’t holding the plate. Gripped in those fingers is a shining object. Charles looks at it and realizes that Erik is holding A FORK. Erik takes the fork and proceeds to use it to cut off a bite of his cake, then he turns back to Charles, walks around the table to stand next to him, holding the plate and the fork with a bite of cake, and murmurs in a voice that is low, deep and so sexy that it sends fire shooting straight to Charles’ groin.

“You really should try this.”

Charles will never be able to explain why he does what he does next. He really should step back, take the plate from Erik’s hand and ignore the fork that Erik is offering to him. Instead he just stares at Erik and somehow manages to mutter back, “Okay.”

It’s as if he’s in a dream as Charles opens his mouth and Erik proceeds to feed him a bite of his cake. The moment the cake hits Charles tongue he feels his eyes flutter shut. It’s the perfect balance of sweetness and richness, but not too sweet and has just the right amount of butter flavor. The crumb is superb and the buttercream frosting almost melts in his mouth. It’s the best damn cake Charles has ever tasted, and he doesn’t want that bite to end. That’s only because he has no idea that what comes next is far better than the sexiest man he's ever seen feeding him cake. Charles opens his eyes and entirely against his will and best interests, he lets out a long ‘mmmmmmmm’, which causes Erik to laugh, a chuckle that only Charles can hear. Then Erik smiles in a way that makes Charles feel like his heart might burst and Erik brings up a hand and brushes a thumb across Charles' bottom lip, sending a deep shiver through him.

“Crumb.” Erik says softly, his voice husky. Charles doesn’t know exactly what is going on, but he thinks the bake-off might be the least of his worries at this point. His biggest concern might be getting arrested when he tears off his competitor's clothes right here in public. Holy shit. The whole room titters with nervous laughter, but Charles doesn’t notice, and from somewhere far away he hears the voice of Remy LeBeau, one of the best pastry chefs in town, as he leans into the mic and declares that maybe there are two winners in the room right now.

“Just kiss him!” someone yells. Charles looks around and he’s pretty sure it’s Raven hollering for a public display of affection. Erik smirks and Charles is starting to think that there’s something vaguely sexy about that smug, self-congratulatory look his competitor seems to perpetually wear on his handsome face.

“You stole my business.” Charles says petulantly as Erik steps forward. Someone in the crowd lets out a whoop.

“Yes.” Erik says, coming even closer. “Because my cake is better.”

“You’re a customer poaching bastard.” Charles sputters, swaying a little towards Erik. Erik takes yet another small step forward.

“And if my cake is that good,” Erik whispers, his face so close to Charles’ that Charles can feel the puff of his breath warm against his skin, ”imagine how good it will be for me to fuck you. Better than cake.”

Charles’ brain whites out. They are mere inches apart now. Charles swallows but he can’t think of anything to say to Erik’s last retort. It appears that no one will ever find out if Cakes for the Memories or Top Cake Shoppe makes a better wedding cake, but in spite of this, Erik Lehnsherr appears to have won the contest. Charles just hadn’t realized that HE was the prize.

“Better than cake.” Charles finally manages to mutter just as Erik dips his head down and kisses him in the most debauched manner right in front of everyone. The crowd bursts out in cheers and whoops and the last thought Charles has is that the sexy bastard had better not think he should get the trophy for this.

~fin~


End file.
